felt Abraham’s warm lips on her forehead. For a moment, it took away the pain.
*
The address Lemmy remembered from Yoni Adiel’s bank statements took him to a two-story house on a busy street in Herzlia. The first floor was all windows under an unlit sign: Adiel amp; Sons – Kosher Meat and Fish
Lemmy pushed the Triumph behind the corner of the house and took the stairs up. He smoothed his hair and tried to brush off the dirt from his white shirt and black pants. There was nothing he could do about the scratches and bruises from the rollover.
The woman who opened the door was heavy, with dark skin and a wide smile. “Shalom! How can I help you?”
“I am Professor Baruch.” Lemmy smiled. “From Bar Ilan University.”
“Oh!” She opened the door wide and beckoned him. “Please, come in. It’s an honor!”
An older man with a black skullcap and a gray beard was sitting in the living room, swaying over a book.
“ This is Professor Baruch,” she explained, “from Yoni’s law school.”
The man extended his hand. “I am Yaakov Adiel, Yoni’s father.”
They looked at Lemmy’s soiled clothes.
“ I ride a motorcycle,” he explained with an apologetic smile. “Today, gravity reminded me what a foolish hobby it is.”
“ Oy vey! ” Mrs. Adiel cradled her cheek in her hand. “Did you get hurt?”
“Only my pride.” He turned as a young man entered the room-dark, skinny, frizzy black hair, and intense, dark eyes under a colorful knitted skullcap.
“That’s Yoni’s older brother,” the mother said. “Haim, please say hello to Professor Baruch from Bar Ilan Law School.”
The brother didn’t smile. “Yoni never mentioned you.”
“Is he home?”
“He just left,” she said. “As soon as Sabbath was over. He’s going to visit friends at a settlement-four different buses, a long trip.”
“No taxis?”
The parents laughed, and Mr. Adiel said, “We’re raising seven children, Professor. They use public transportation.”
“ Which settlement?”
The brother said, “Why do you want to know?”
“ Haim!” She smiled apologetically. “Yoni went to Tapuach. He will be so disappointed to have missed you.”
But Lemmy wasn’t listening to her any longer. He returned the brother’s hostile glare without blinking. Did Haim know Yoni’s real agenda?
She said, “Would you like a cup of tea?”
Haim turned and walked out of the room. Lemmy followed him down a hallway, past a kitchen, which seemed to be in the midst of a major cleanup after the Sabbath, and into a bedroom with two sets of bunk beds against opposite walls.
Haim kicked the door shut. “What do you want?”
On the desk Lemmy noticed a clean ashtray that held several bullets. He picked one. Twenty-two caliber. A blank. “He switched the bullets?”
“ The Arabs ambush our people in the West Bank. Blanks won’t help him.”
“ Help him with Arabs or with something else?”
Haim came closer, his fists clenched. “Stay out of my brother’s business-”
Lemmy grabbed him by the neck, hooked a leg behind his knees, and slapped him down on the floor, knocking the air out of him. “Where is Yoni?”
The young man tried to push away the hand from his throat, but Lemmy landed a knee on his sternum and pressed a thumb onto his Adam’s apple.
The bravado was gone, the eyes wide with fear.
Lemmy lifted his thumb. “Answer!”
“ He took the bus.”
“ Which one?”
“ Number 247. To Tel Aviv.”
“ The bus route?”
“ Ayalon Avenue. All the way.”
Lemmy let go of Haim. “What color skullcap is Yoni wearing?”
“ I don’t know. Blue and white, I think.”
*
The immensity of the crowd surprised Gideon. Israelis of all ages, ethnicity, and economic status stood shoulder-to-shoulder, straining to see the stage. The mayor of Tel Aviv, a retired IDF general, spoke about his dream of peace with the Arabs, his voice booming from hundreds of loudspeakers. “And that’s why I’m honored, on behalf of the people of Tel Aviv, to host this peace rally and to support my courageous comrade and brother-in- arms, Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin!”
A deafening cheer came from the crowd, and Rabin could be seen in the front line of the public figures on the stage, waving at his supporters.
Agent Cohen stopped and listened to a report on his walkie-talkie. A man fitting Spinoza’s description was stopped on King Saul Avenue. He was carrying a licensed pistol. His ID had an address of a kibbutz in the south, and he claimed to be a veteran major in the IDF. “I don’t care! Arrest him!”
More people were arriving. Many waved Israeli flags on little sticks or held up placards in support of Labor, Meretz, or Shalom Now! As expected, the hundreds of balconies overlooking the plaza were filled with spectators. Near the stage, a bunch of youths jumped into the reflecting pool, splashing each other to the delight of the TV cameras.
A singer took the mike, his hair long, his face heavily made up. He broke into a familiar tune with lyrics that Gideon couldn’t follow. The crowd went crazy, clapping, dancing, squealing at the top of their voices.
Gideon smiled, then remembered the reality of Spinoza on the loose. This happy night could still end in tragedy.
Behind the rear of the stage, Agent Cohen entered the sterile area, which was guarded by police officers and Shin Bet agents in civilian clothes. “Wait here,” he told Gideon and consulted quietly with a few colleagues who, Gideon assumed, were also members of Shin Bet’s VIP Protection Unit.
At the far end of the sterile area, the prime minister’s official car-a gray Cadillac-waited with its doors open, the driver standing by, smoking a cigarette.
*
Lemmy rode the Bonneville as hard as he dared. He cut in front of cars, passed in narrow spaces between lanes, bypassed stationary traffic on the shoulder, and took chances at busy intersections. After the restful Sabbath, when most businesses were closed and families spent time together at home, Israelis flooded the streets, especially teenagers and young professionals, patronizing restaurants, bars, and movie theaters. Many were young and inexperienced drivers, though it took nothing away from their confident aggression at the wheel.
But the risk paid off when Lemmy saw bus number 247 ahead, ascending the bridge over the Yarkon River at the entrance to Tel Aviv. The motorbike sputtered a bit on the upswing, but caught up on the downward stretch of the bridge. A pickup truck separated him from the bus, but the street lamps briefly illuminated the interior. Through the rear window Lemmy could see the head of a young man with black hair and a knitted blue-and-white skullcap.
He leaned into the opposite lane to pass the pickup truck, catching a glimpse of the side of the bus, which bore an ad showing a swimsuit model lounging in the curves of a giant green pepper. The pickup truck accelerated, the youths in the cabin hollering. Lemmy downshifted and pulled the throttle all the way. He barely had time to cut in, avoiding an oncoming car whose headlights beamed into his eyes with intensity that left him momentarily blinded. As he struggled to regain focus, his vision concentrating on the rear of the bus, Lemmy failed to notice the lights turn red above the next intersection. He approached it at full speed just as a woman and a child stepped down from
